


In Plain Sight: A Tale of ASG

by Scapolite



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scapolite/pseuds/Scapolite
Summary: Finding work under the stigma of disability and powers was hard enough for Matt, but returning to NYC only to find his city falling into chaos is more than he can handle. It's up to Matt, friend Jean DeWolff, and rival Chief Carter to put down Carnage. But with Captain Stacy dead, can the 3 vigilantes end her trail of bloodlust at last? A side story to the Amazing Spider-Gwen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place after chapter 14 of the Amazing Spider-Gwen.

 

The young socialite squirmed and turned in his sleep, thoughts of his latest rival troubling him.

Despite his attempts to ignore her, the images of rejection refused to leave his mind. Not only had the upstart publicly humiliated him, but he'd lost the good graces of Kingsley as well.

He was grateful indeed his lawyer had secured him six months probation, and nothing more drastic than that.

The thought of being confined to a filthy cell with barbaric criminals both terrified and disgusted him. Worse still, among his circle, there were rumors of a yet bleaker punishment for only the most depraved of souls. For that, he dared not imagine.

He was roused from his fitful sleep by a late-night call.

"Yeah, what do you want!?" he half slurred, half growled in his sweat-soaked sheets.

"Jason Macendale, I'm waiting for you." The voice on the other end was a smooth, practiced contralto.

A shiver unrelated to his musings crawled up his spine. The chimes of panic faintly rang out in the recesses of his mind, though from what he was unable to say.

"Do you know what time it is? Some people are trying to sleep!"

"It's 2-30 in the morning," came the reply. "And," there was a pause. "Thirty-six seconds on the minute."

"Who is this?" he asked with some irritation.

"I don't have the need for names these days I'm afraid. If you did know, I doubt you'd recognize it, that was before your time, my sweet."

"Whatever. If you have something meaningful to say, say it now. I have a..."

"A meeting with your hair stylist at 7-30, yes I am aware of that."

"How did you..."

You normally schedule your cosmetics around noon," she continued. "However, you have a meeting with Harold Osborn in the early afternoon. Based on your personal preferences, this will be a longer appointment than usual. As such, you wish to be certain to look your best."

His indignation rose. "You've been snooping through my personal information, haven't you? I'll have you know, that's a criminal offense!"

The feminine voice chuckled, taking on a softer tone. "Oh, that is rich. You accuse me of criminal offenses? I was there, you know. I saw what you were doing, and more importantly, what you were about to do."

"I..." his hand trembled.

"When someone deigned to compete in your joke of a competition, you tried to frame her. When that failed, you then attempted to poison Miss Watson, just to masturbate your own ego."

"How... you're making that nonsense up. You're trying to psych me out, you filthy crook. I don't have to put up with this!"

"Like I said, Mr Macendale. I'm waiting for you."

"Well, you'll have to wait a while I'm afraid. I need sleep."

"Silly boy, perhaps you aren't listening after all. I said..." there was another pause.

Then without warning, a loud tap came at his window.

Jason turned around, his heart thumping in his chest.

"I'm waiting for you. Right here," she purred.

"But... but you aren't here. I just looked! You're just trying to scare a rich man. Prove you're tougher than me, aren't you?"

"You can't see me at this hour. Turn on the lights, it won't do you any good. But I'm here. I'll wait as long as it takes. I know where you're going, when you're going."

"I... I don't believe you."

The woman laughed softly.

"It doesn't matter. You will have to leave this house sooner or later. You have important people expecting you, as you like to remind everyone at your little socials. And when you do, you can repay your debt."

Jason felt a flood of relief. If she wanted money, that could be arranged.

He couldn't recall owing any woman money, but he had made many deals in his short life, it wasn't inconceivable he'd forgotten one.

"How much? I've got a healthy bank account, I'm sure we can work something out," he injected as much confidence as he could into his tone.

No reply.

"Ten-thousand dollars? Not a problem."

Silence.

"One-hundred thousand? I can do that. A million? Hello? Hello!"

"I know women aren't your style, but please, dress in something nice for me, won't you darling?"

There was a click, and the tone of his cell hanging up.

He tapped the redial button on his iRon phone.

It went to inbox.

It was then that Jason noticed his fan was not working. The house was quiet.

He reached for his bedside lamp, but it failed to light.

He spent the night huddled in a corner, cradling his flashlight.

* * *

"Oh come on, you know I could have kicked your ass three days to Sunday!"

"Said the girl getting juggled harder than a knife at the circus. C'mon Jean, we didn't need Shao Kahn to spell it out for us."

"Whatever. The ninja recolors suck anyway," the officer grumbled, pulling a sock over her ankle.

"Pounding the crap out of red ninjas is just what I do," he quipped, stretching an arm over his head and yawning.

"You need a new hobby."

"You need a new main."

"I'd love to spend time training, but I've got a paying job that takes up some time from my schedule."

Her partner grimaced, a spoon of cornflakes hovering below his lips.

"Oh, sorry, Matt. Did I strike a nerve?"

He shook his head, mechanically chewing the cereal between his teeth. "We get by. There's enough housewives asking me where their twenties went to keep food on the table. At least Foggy's not bitching about four hotdog dinners a week anymore. I'm a consultant, not a therapist."

"I thought you were a lawyer?"

He sighed. "Still am, last I checked. But it was hard enough getting past the disability thing, harder still when my competition thinks I have mutant powers."

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it at his raised hand.

"Technicalities aside, they're right, I do have powers. But that's not something I can just go public with, Jean. Sure, clients would be lining up at our door, but is it really fair when I have an advantage like that? Either way, that's double the baggage my clients don't need. For now, it's better to keep things low-key until the public..."

Matt paused at the sound of her phone.

"Sorry, I need to take this."

He nodded.

"Jean here, talk to me."

"Yes, mmhmm. Uh, yeah, I can have him over, why?"

"oh..." Matt felt a sudden, intense jolt of fear and excitement shudder through her aura.

"O-of course, sir. We'll be there in five, no, ten minutes. Understood."

He heard her phone drop the call.

"Who was that?"

"Matt, I need you. Like, right now."

"Uh, okay, but..." there was an abrupt harshness to her tone that made the hairs on his neck prickle.

"Carnage is back. And Carter just found her next victim."

* * *

In the ten minutes it took to drive to Mahogany Springs, Matt's blood had turned to ice.

It should not have taken him by surprise, it shouldn't have. But it terrified him all the same.

It had been six years. Six years since her last reported citing.

Even now, he would never forget the wreak of blood and sour milk. By the time they'd found her, the rats had already gotten to the poor girl, her stomach had been partially eaten through. In desperation, she'd tried to scratch through her wrist to get the chain off, but it had only provoked the feeding.

He took a deep breath.

Six years ago, things had been different. Six years ago, they had George.

"Jean," he began, as she ran a red light. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. His phone was soaked in blood." Her aura was steady with determination. A hard-single-minded mixture of anger and anxious energy.

"We're here. Are you ready?"

Her partner's typically unreadable expression held a tightness in his lips that didn't bode well.

"No, I'm not."

That made two of them.

Stepping outside her Cutlass, he held out his arm. She took it.

"Gated community, definitely high-class," she whispered as he was led across the pavement.

"Victim's 21, male. Name's Jason Phillip Macendale."

"Anything else?"

"That's all Stan told me."

They walked through the quiet row of houses. The neatly-trimmed lawns, green grass and blooming flowers were at odds with the silence. On any other occasion, kids would be shouting and playing outside, adults smoking on their polished wood porches, but each house was shuddered and locked. One look at their destination was all the explanation she needed.

Jean did her best to interpret for him. She squeezed his shoulder for support.

For a murder victim, he'd been dressed well for the occasion: sporting a pressed dark blue suit that hung in tatters, designer slacks, bow-laced socks, and a dining jacket hanging from his gored chest. A flower had fallen from his lapel, the white rose now red.

He'd been impaled on the center spike of his front gate to start with. She'd driven it forcefully through his rectal cavity, so firmly as to keep him upright. The chains around his arm and legs bound him to the bars, but loosened enough to keep his limbs dangling from the edge, putting on further pressure whenever he would flail in panic. His calves and shoulders were swollen and torn by the bite of the chains.

Electrical coils had been tied around his chest, both to supply the current and presumably to keep as much blood in his body as she could. She'd given up at some point, as his intestines dangled from his stomach, a congealing pool of blood staining his designer boots.

His mouth was parted in a silent scream. The remains of his right eye had been torn out and left to crust his cheek.

"H-her work, no doubting that..."

Stepping on the cobblestone path that lead to the gates, Carter and a team of detectives were gathered around the body as they approached.

The chief looked up from his cigarette.

"Daredevil," he said matter-of-factly, spoken as though it were a curse.

"Carter," Matt replied with as much neutrality as he could.

"You got him, good. Alright, let's not beat around the bush. Jason Macendale turned up dead this morning, around 4-50 AM. Died of severe trauma to the rectum, upper midsection, and an inactive heart due to electric stimuli. Here's proof."

He held out a free hand, to which an aid supplied him with a blood-soaked smartphone.

"Looks like she drove this into his ribcage. The cherry on top, just to be sure we got the message it seems."

"There's no subtlety in the name Carnage," Daredevil spoke grimly.

"Can you do it?" Carter asked.

"If the body is no older than six hours dead, yes."

Jean's stoicism fractured as a line of unease creased her jaw. "Are you sure there's no alternatives?"

Carter turned to her with a sour expression. "I want a lead on that bitch as soon as possible. If it takes... people like him to do it, then we will. More time in the lab is more time she has to commit another murder. I thought you were pressing for this case for months, lieutenant? Well, this is as good a lead as we're going to get."

"Yes sir. D, you ready?"

The empath merely nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

She led him to the body.

He laid a hand along the gate, feeling for Jason. He touched a finger.

This close to the deceased, he felt a sluggish, twitching approximation of an aura.

Compared with the living, who's emotional spectrum was quick to change and adapt to the world around them, the dead only had their strongest emotions to anchor them down to Earth. But within that weakened state, there was still the glimmer of a fading consciousness. Like the sweeping particles of a nova, its light had faded in a flash, leaving behind nothing but an afterimage of light.

And yet, without a conscious will to assert its independence, there was nothing to resist his touch.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

"Please, it hurts so bad! Please... I'm sorry..."

It was a distant voice. A crying, harsh sound of animal suffering. His voice.

His insides were flooded with pain. Warm blood dripping down his legs. His legs. His pain!

He dared to open his eye.

He saw her standing over him. She was holding something else to hurt him, something else to prolong his hell.

"Shut up! Just shut your filthy mouth!" she hissed, holding a cleaver in her hand. It stood out clean and sharp against her scabbing, dirt-caked skin.

Jason had learned to suffer with the agony. Every twitch, every motion betrayed by his body.

Before, there had been other feelings to distract his attention. The cold rush of fear, the sensation of wetting himself, and somewhere deep down a hope of escape.

The novelties had fled.

But when she'd unchained him from his room, she'd dragged him outside and forced him onto the gate. After that, he had no hope.

He saw her hand twitch. It shook, leaving the instrument unsteady in her grip.

"I hate all of you fucking parasites. Sick, filthy, disgusting things! You couldn't just leave me alone, could you? No, you blood-sucking shits had to keep shouting at me with your greed, and your property, and your waste. Your selfish waste! At least all the filthy street rats come by it honestly, but you leeches chose this sickness. That's why you earned this."

She dug the blade's edge into his shoulder, slowly cutting through the meat and down to his forearm, taking care not to puncture the vein.

"I... please, stop... I'm so tired..." he'd spoken without thinking again. A mechanical response that no longer made a difference.

"Stop? Why ever would I stop? You never stopped!" she struck his skull, producing a dull snap that made his vision flash white.

She continued, emphasizing each shout with another blow. "You never stopped! to consider your actions. You never stopped! When the homeless crowd out their shelters, bodies and bodies and bodies poisoning the air with their stink. When your sewer rats drown in the blood of dead children. You still won't stop!"

She snarled at his broken face, her teeth black with rot. "Until someone makes you."

He prepared himself, but, the blow didn't come.

Instead, she turned her head to one side, as if listening for someone.

She glared at something he could not see, then back at Him.

"Cassy? Is that you, Cassy? No, no, I remember. I remember! I remember! I remember why I hate you!"

He felt the blade's cold tip graze against his stomach. He shivered.

"Stop fucking moving!" Before he had time to react, he felt a wrenching in his gut.

It was discomforting. He moved a hand to scratch at the itch.

Jason was shocked to see his hand come away drenched in blood.

He stared at it curiously.

There was, nothing for a moment. Then at once a roaring, shrieking screaming storm of pain. He screamed then. Louder than he ever had, louder than he thought anyone could.

"Hush!" she dropped the cleaver, clamping both hands over his jaw. "See what you made me do, Cassy? If you weren't so mean, I wouldn't have to kill you again. You see, Cassy?"

She paused. She looked at Jason directly, staring at his face as if searching for something.

"There's another here. There's someone else here! Someone is watching me," she whispered to herself.

Jason could do nothing but try to scream through his teeth. He felt blood warm his legs.

"There's someone here! Someone will find this one, yes I think they will," she began to breathe more heavily. "This one's special, not like all the others. They were all so dull. Nobody that was missed."

"There's so little time. Can't wait, can't wait. I need to prepare."

She took out a dirty rag from her blouse pocket, wiping the blade gently.

The woman once named Manuela smiled.

"But first," she picked up his phone, small as a tablet, and drove it elbow- deep into his stomach, her arm dripping with scarlet.

Jason closed his eye one more time, surrendering to the pain, letting it wash him under its current at last.

There was darkness.

* * *

Matt felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

It was Jean of course, standing at his side, projecting an aura of concern.

He gave her a weak smile, using her shoulder for support.

His skin crawled. It felt alien to him that his skin wasn't pulling off his body, that he could now flex muscles that weren't clenched in agony.

Spending time in someone else's skin made you appreciate your own.

"So, what did you see?" Carter asked, to the point as usual.

"I... Oh, fuck..." he quickly jogged to the manicured lawn and emptied the contents of his stomach.

He stood up and wiped his mouth. The mind was a terrible thing to read, the mind of a dying man was far worse. It was an experience that always left him tainted, colder somehow.

"Give him a minute, Stan! God you could stand not to be a prick sometimes. You'd better be paying him for this."

"No, I'm fine, Jean. I chose to help, if it means getting closer to Carnage, it's worth some... discomfort," He turned to face the captain.

"It's her alright. She's not changed her uniform. Or washed it, for that matter by the smell of it," He looked as though he'd vomit again, but restrained himself.

"It's as you suspected. Tortured and dragged to the gate. She called him "Cassy", little Miss Mani's head isn't doing so well, if I were to take a guess. Looked an hour before dawn."

"Alright, so that's five hours ago at most, she can't be far," Carter nodded to himself.

Jean glanced at Daredevil again, as if to ask if he was okay, but he gave no visible response.

"What I don't get is," she began, lighting a cigarette. "Is how she's not been spotted already. Carnage is a lot of things, but smart isn't one of them. She did most of the work in his house, but surely someone would've heard him scream. Come out to see what happened."

She looked at the trail of blood leading down the path to the gate.

Matt thought for a moment. "Well, let's see what the neighbors have to say."

He turned back to Carter. "But yeah, if I don't see that check in the mail by Friday, we've got a problem. And if we've got a problem, you've got a problem."

* * *

Not a lot, as it turned out.

Most of the neighborhood had left their homes. Those that remained refused to answer their doors until Jean would make it clear they were the police.

Even so, they had little to say. Most had been asleep or waking up when the murder had taken place. Most confessed to have heard a few shouts, but had thought little of it. For a widow in her thirties, it had only struck her to call the police as soon as she'd found Jason's body while walking her pug.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Carter grumbled, the three back at the gate, staring at the corpse as if hoping it had answers to give.

"Are you sure you've not gotten anything else out of that weird mutant shit of yours?"

Matt resisted the urge to clench his teeth.

"No, I saw her, but it's kinda hard to concentrate when you've only got one eye to work with."

"Seem to do alright with zero," Jean groused, still puffing at her stub.

"Oh don't start that shit too. Unless you two know any other psychics willing to work with the police, I'd appreciate the lack of bitching."

"That's all of them so far. Unless anyone else comes back, this place is dry," Jean muttered, crushing the butt under her boot.

Without any witnesses, the three had nothing but time on their hands. It was the worst part of the job, a fact Jean knew all too well.

"A few moments of crazy for a few hours of lazy," Stacy had once surmised.

The thought only continued to weigh on her mind as an hour passed without incident.

The others had left, taking Jason's body with them for testing. It was doubtful they'd get anything out of him their eye witness hadn't, but it never hurt.

"Fuck, if Stacy were here he'd have thought of something by now," Stan said, now on his fourth smoke.

"Doubt it," Matt replied, keeping a bit of distance between the two smokers.

"He'd be doing something at least. George always took the first step, even if it didn't get us anywhere, he still tried." Carter spoke emphatically, scowling at Matt.

"And look where that got him, Stan. Or do you want to forget he went by himself and never told anyone?" Daredevil shook his head. "He was a good man, but he made mistakes too."

Before the discussion had the chance to turn heated, they were spared as Jean saw a car enter the gate and park near a driveway.

"Look, that one seems to live here. It's worth a shot."

Daredevil quietly got to his feet.

Carter grunted in ascent.

Jean jogged toward the newcomer, her partners close behind.

"This is the NYPD. We're here to investigate the recent murder of Jason Macendale JR. If you have any information, it could save lives," Jean said to the man, the three now seated at his table.

He seemed frightened by the implication, but with a few reassurances from Daredevil, spoke up all the same.

"I... I saw it happen... it was terrible..."

"I understand," Daredevil said, putting as much warmth as he could into his tone. "But please, if you know anything at all, it could make a difference."

He looked at the group for a moment, then nodded.

True to his word, he'd seen the murder take place, or at least, the crucial details. He'd been too afraid to call for the police until she'd left.

As he'd explained it, he'd feared if he were caught, he would suffer as much as Jason had, if not worse.

In the end, he chose the pragmatic option and took some time to get away from the scene as he'd called the police.

Fortunately for them, he'd seen her car, a battered black 2006 BMW and license plate.

The three took the find with cautious enthusiasm. It was miraculous, an advantage that was quickly given out to their partners, detectives, and informants.

Thanking the witness sincerely, (even Carter seemed appreciative), they regrouped in Jean's Cutlass.

"We'll take this when we get the intel, I'll have one of my men pick my vehicle up later. Let's move as soon as we get the call."

"I'm driving, no arguments, Stan."

"Can't drive a damn stick anyway."

"D could do a better job than you," she smirked, looking over the driver's seat at Matt.

"Hey, is he alright?"

Matt's face had grown pale. His mouth formed a stiff frown, he seemed not to have heard.

"I'm... I'm sorry... please, I don't know what to do..." his voice was soft and distant. He spoke haltingly.

Stan looked at his companion with some annoyance. "I just said what we're doing, what's this about?"

"You should've told me, Elly! We could have found you help, found a doctor..."

He was awash in memories, deaf to their questions.

Even now, he would never forget the softness of her skin. The scent of almond oil in her hair.

The way she'd smile as he would gently stroke her cheek.

There had been a warmth, a playfulness that was such a contrast to her coldness when they were together on missions. A flirt, a thief, a killer and a lover. Elektra.

Even then he'd always known it couldn't last. He'd treasure the quiet moments while they made love, whether it was a bed crawling with mosquitoes in Samoa, or roll of blankets in the Alps. Even when they would shout and swear after the trail ran cold, he would soak in every second, as though he were moments away from waking up from a dream; an older, sadder man.

"Chief, we found Carnage's last known location!"

Carnage. The thought jolted him from his reminiscence.

* * *

The Cutlass was gaining speed as Jean and Carter sifted through updates crackling with static.

Daredevil never liked cars, the sudden twists and turns made him disoriented as he couldn't see what was coming. Thinking of dozens of them all at speeds above the limit didn't help.

Jean was relieved to see the call had woken Matt from his trance. Even Carter seemed a touch less concerned. She wanted to ask what his bout of anxiety was, but there wasn't time for it now. She'd ask Matt later.

"Report!" Carter barked into his radio.

"DeWolff, you remember that bust with the couple who raided Johnny's Car and Bike Parts?"

Carter handed it over, Jean taking the radio with her right hand as she held the wheel in her left.

She answered in the affirmative.

"A car matching your description was seen leaving the area ten minutes ago. Not perfect, but it's the best we got."

"Understood. Thanks, Thompson."

"Alright, we need to be there an hour ago, we've got ten miles to go. All things considered, I'm sure you won't give me a ticket, will you Stan?"

To his credit, Carter had enough humor to crack a smirk.

"On the double, lieutenant."

The next five minutes were hell for Matt's stomach.

Johnny looked none too happy to see two cops and a consultant rush into his shop.

"Mister Blaze, we're sorry to interrupt your business, but..." Jean began.

"Bullshit. This shop's barely seen a customer since the riots," he growled in a low voice, straightening up from repairing his motorcycle to face the unwelcome newcomers.

His cropped red hair stood out in the shop's dim light as he wiped his hands on a greasy rag and threw it in a pile of broken parts and old boxes.

The middle-aged man with the graying hair and chief's badge disgusted him. He recognized the Cuban woman. She'd have been pretty if she'd scowled less and opened those lovely eyes of her's.

He paused, looking at the tall man in his black jacket with the consultant's badge.

"The hell? Didn't know you worked with the police, Daredevil."

The blind man nodded in his direction, a brief smile on his lips. He was a good man.

"If you're working with these two, there's gotta be a good reason behind it. Alright, I'll bite."

"Have you seen this woman," Carter fished out a picture of their suspect, a woman of average height in her early thirties, light-brown complexion, dressed in a blue silk blouse, silver-gray skirt, and black loafers. Her long brown hair was braided with silver beads, an emerald wedding ring resting on her finger.

"It's several years outdated," Jean explained before he could reply. "Add dirty clothes, long nails, and a smashed BMW. We're looking for her."

"You're shit out of luck then. Someone like that came in a week ago, didn't look as bad as you've described. A little twitchy, but she seemed fine enough. That thing was beat up to hell and back, but it was weird. She just wanted her tires pumped. I asked her if she didn't want it fixed up, but she wouldn't hear of it."

"Are you lying, son?" Carter glared up at the taller man.

Matt took a step back.

The biker glared back at Carter. There was a fierceness in his deep blue gaze, a flat look that all but dared the recipient to blink, as though it could bore a hole in the wall.

Carter looked dead on for a moment, but soon lowered his head. There was something he apparently didn't like in the man's eyes, tightening a finger around his holster reflexively.

"He's not lying, Stan. No change in his aura."

Johnny stole a glance at the unassuming blind man, standing stiffly apart from the other two. He'd heard rumors about what he was capable of, but that was one that could be confirmed.

"Did you see where she was headed?" Jean asked, resuming her role as the diplomat of the group.

He shrugged. "I might've. What's it to you? She's long gone by now."

Carter gripped his gun harder. "If you don't tell us, you'll be taken in for questioning and charged for suspicion in aiding a suspect wanted in a case of several homicides and third-degree murders."

He seemed genuinely surprised at that. "That's some serious shit. But I've got a lawyer on speed dial. Take me in, I won't go easy."

"We don't have time for this! That monster could be out planning her next target!" Carter looked as though he'd pull his gun right then and there.

"I'm a lawyer by trade," Daredevil interjected. "I'd find that a very unreasonable decision, Mister Blaze."

"For no reason in particular," Matt continued. "Have you been looking for a certain car stereo?"

Against all odds, the mention seemed to have stopped Johnny. He looked at him with a noticeable spike of expectation in his aura.

"Those fucking idiots stole it. Who knows what the hell they did with it?"

"I believe that's where I come in," Jean said reaching into her wallet. "I confiscated their receipt for a certain wireless stereo in a local pawn shop."

The biker's eyes gleamed with interest. "And you wanna know where this suspect of yours went?"

Daredevil nodded.

"When she came in, she gave her address as 187 Chyrstie, between Stanton and Rivington. Like I said, that was a week ago, don't know how much good that'll do ya."

He took the receipt and headed for the door.

"Wait, we're not done yet," Carter barked. "Where the hell are you going?"

"I held up my end. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting back what's mine."

Before they could stop him, he ran through the door.

"You're just going to leave this place open?!" Jean shouted after him.

"It'll be fine, nothing in this dump worth stealing!" he was heard shouting as they heard the sound of a motorcycle engine.

When they ran out the exit Johny was gone, leaving an empty store and a faint scent of brimstone in the air.

"Well, I guess it's time for another steak out," Stan grumbled, heading back to Jean's car. Before they left, Carter called in a few rookies to stand guard while the store's owner was away.

* * *

"So, are you all right Matt? You were blanking out back there."

It was an hour into their steak out on the apartment. In spite of how seriously they all took the watch, knowing Carnage could be there at any time, the anticipation was getting to them. Even Carter was chafing, judging by the fifth cigarette he was lighting a distance away.

"I was having... bad memories. It's an effect of seeing someone else's. Their emotions can fill you with thoughts and feelings you'd not like to have. Given who that was, well..." he trailed off, folding his hands in his lap.

"Does that only work on the dead? That sounds like an awful thing if it leaves you feeling like hell."

He shook his head.

"No. What I sense as a person's aura is their feelings, their personality, emanating from their thoughts. Their force of will is a core of strength that pushes any attempt to see further away. I've... never tried to force that, not even on criminals. It would be worse than rape, a complete violation of the human mind."

Moments like these made Jean wonder what her partner was thinking under his stoic expression. The more she tried to comprehend his powers, the more she could understand why he was so reserved.

"But if there's trust, if there's understanding and compassion, it is possible." Matt smiled faintly.

"There was once a woman like that. Her name was Elektra, and she's the reason why..."

"Freeze! Drop your weapon!"

Daredevil's heart leapt into his chest.

It was time.

Carter was up ahead, pointing his gun at something Jean couldn't see.

"Manuela Calderon, you're under arrest for the murder of Jason Macendale!"

She ran up to his position, Matt trailing by her elbow in a vice-like grip.

Jean looked ahead, seeing nothing.

Carter fired his gun, shouting at the top of his lungs a volley of curses and epithets.

The noise reverberated through the apartment complex, leaving a halting silence.

"Wait, there's nobody there. Carter, wait!"

He turned around to look at her with hate in his eyes.

"I said freeze! Raise your weapon, and I'll shoot! That's your last warning!"

"Stan, it's just us. Please, try and think cl..."

Carter turned to face him, as if only now noticing Matt's presence.

"Alison... you work with monsters like her?"

A grim pleasure crept into his spectrum of emotions.

"How fitting."

He felt a sudden pressure on his shoulder that staggered him.

A moment passed before Daredevil could comprehend the knowledge that he'd been shot by his own partner.

His grip loosened on Jean's arm, his knees shaking before the ground came rushing up to catch him.

He clutched at the bloody hole in his muscle, clenching his teeth to keep from howling in agony.

Carter turned to face her.

Jean's nerves sang with adrenalin.

Before he could finish reloading his revolver, she raised her taser, firing a barb of electricity through Carter's chest.

The chief snarled, refusing to let his numb fingers lose his grip.

"Stan, snap out of it! You're seeing things that aren't... aren't there?!"

"Jean, behind you!" she heard Matt call out, his voice horse with suppressed pain.

She dared not look at her partner.

And there she was.

Manuela Calderon, dressed in her ragged skirt and blouse. They were matted with filth, years of garbage, cracks, stains and tears blackening its colors until it was almost unrecognizable. She held a stainless steel cleaver in one hand, the polish of the blade contrasting its owner's disarray.

Jean fired her taser once more, the current slamming into her target.

Her knife quivered in her hand, but she otherwise remained still. She grinned, revealing her rotted teeth.

"Burn in hell, you fucking monster!" Carter screamed, loading his gun.

"Your endless prattle disgusts me," a voice from behind them spoke.

They turned around, the figure of Chameleon in their red ninja attire, hand raised to strike. Before either had time to react, they jabbed a finger in the back of Carter's neck.

His hands grew limp, his muscles relaxed as the revolver slipped from his hands and he fell to the pavement.

She turned back, but there was no sign of Carnage.

"You! You slimy piece of shit! We had her! We almost had her!"

Chameleon straightened from their pose, a passive smile on their lips. "And I am a Catholic priest, She-Wolf. I'm afraid you're no closer to finding the Lover than the moment you laid eyes on the Wilted Rose's body. Speaking of corpses, the Seer is in dire need of healing. I will offer him a fragment of our Blessing, if that is permitted. In return, I would like to pass along a message."

The lieutenant clenched her jaw with rage, wanting nothing more than to smash their skull until they stopped coming back together. But she'd been tricked by the Hand for the third time, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

She nodded.

Chameleon quickly paced to Daredevil's form, he was lying on his side, a slowly growing stain of blood spreading across his back.

They placed a hand on his shoulder. The red energy of the Blessing flashed in their fingertips as they pressed into his skin.

In seconds the wound became a pale pink, softening as fresh skin grew to knit together the bullet wound. The flesh narrowed, squeezing out the shell onto their finger with a measure of distaste.

"It is done."

"Are they going to be alright? So help me, if you've..."

"The Bloodhound will regain his senses within the hour, I simply closed off a pressure point for a moment. Seer may take a little more time, but the Blessing heals many wounds, though I fear not the ones that trouble him most."

"For the moment, let us suspend our confrontation. I have no enmity for you, She-Wolf."

"Fuck you."

"You are quite welcome."

She felt the beginnings of a headache.

"Fine. This was Epsilon's doing, wasn't it? Like idiots, we took the bait," she said bitterly.

"It was their plan. Those visions the Bloodhound saw were conjured by their hand, but it was through his eyes that he perceived it. As for yourself, you saw what you wanted to see."

She was tempted to electrocute the shinobi, even if it didn't do her any good.

"How do I know Carnage even committed that murder? For all I know, that was his blood on your hands!"

"We claim some responsibility, but Carnage was there. She ended that man's life."

"These siting's? The evidence? You fabricated it all, didn't you?"

Chameleon's face was unreadable.

"Why?" she said after a pause, unable to know what to say. Matt and Carter remained unconscious.

"Because the Wise One asked me to. I owed them a favor."

She was taken aback by that.

"A... favor? Really? That's all?"

"That is all. They wanted to alert you to the Lover's presence. For what purpose, I know as little as you do. But as you know well, she's not ceased her activity since last you and your companions met. Perhaps they simply wanted to see her disposed of as much as you."

Jean considered the being that was not male, not female, nor anything else. A creature with strange powers and stranger motives.

"Hmm. So the Hand has its morals? Things even people like you won't do?" In spite of herself, she was genuinely curious.

As much as she despised Chameleon, as sick of their manipulations as she was, there was an honesty about them. She knew without being told that for all the misdirection and trickery, Chameleon would never answer a question falsely.

"If you are implying we lack our own free will, this is not so. Though some of our order wish it otherwise, we cannot forget what it is like to be human. Even Seer understands this, deny it though he may. That for as different in motive as we are, he too delves into the feelings of others, so we do not forget why we struggle."

She had to admit the truth in that. They and Matt were cut from the same cloth, travelers on a road she could not follow.

"So, what was the message?"

Chameleon closed their eyes in concentration. When they opened, they spoke in a deeper, fuller voice.

"Recall where we crossed a bridge of amber. You will find me waiting for you."

"Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Not in the slightest," Chameleon smiled.

Yes, definitely a headache.

"Farewell for now, She-Wolf. If it is of any comfort, the Hand bares no ill will to you. Remember..."

She scowled. "Don't trust the Bloodhound, Seer's welcome to join you. Yeah, I remember." She waved a hand dismissively."

They nodded.

"Good luck."

Jean didn't bother to look where they'd gone.

For the third time that day, she spent a few hours waiting. In time the men would wake from their injuries.

Getting them back to the car was a bitch.

She'd think of an excuse Carter would buy. The truth was stranger than he could perhaps understand.

She began her drive back to the station.

As for Matt, there was a message to deliver and plenty of questions she needed answered.

Jean sighed, wondering what to do next.

She lit a cigarette.


End file.
